


hey, lolita, hey ;

by txfeebxn



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Not Canon Compliant, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-14 17:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21176138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txfeebxn/pseuds/txfeebxn
Summary: Gretta Keene is a girl looking for trouble.Patrick Hockstetter is that trouble.





	hey, lolita, hey ;

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update as soon as I get a review.  
Or not, depending on the response!

The house was as empty as it always was.

Gretta pulled herself from bed and initiated her morning routine. Shower, makeup, outfit, breakfast, pills, coffee. All on time. With a spare minute or two, she sat at the kitchen table alone: as usual, her father had left for work before she'd come downstairs, and she had time to reflect. On what exactly, she wasn't sure. The things she was meant to think about, she didn't want to. Couldn't, in fact. These thoughts had to be pushed right to the back of her mind, buried beneath fashion trends and diets and the latest gossip. That was how the Keenes worked.

With a sigh, she shook a thought that threatened to creep to the forefront of her mind away and stalked over to the mirror to scrape her curly hair into a high ponytail. All the girls were wearing their hair this way now, probably due to her own influence. It didn't even look particularly nice, in her eyes at least. That didn't matter. It was different, and the general student population admired that. A colorful scrunchie or two never hurt either, one on the ponytail and one on the wrist: another style trend that had been replicated a hundred times by her peers. It was both flattering and pathetic. She decided to leave for school a few minutes earlier than usual.

A few minutes more to torment Beverly Marsh, perhaps.

_At least her father cares enough to give her a curfew. _

_Stupid ginger bitch._

* * *

School passed in a haze of geometry and mindless chatter. Gretta found herself roaming the halls after hours, when the janitor's tuneless whistling was the only sound audible. She stood at her locker, thumbing through textbooks and magazines, trying to appear busy. The house would be empty when she got home, and she wanted to avoid that. Yet her dog-eared books were a much more welcome distraction than the invitation from her friends to join them at the mall in the next town over: why _was_ that, she wondered? Cheap food-court snacks, mindless but plentiful compliments, a credit card that could get her any material thing she wanted, none of it excited her anymore. Sure, all of those concepts had held some merit when she was younger, but nowadays she lusted after something more. Something exciting. Occasionally she fantasized about danger-- not the kind that would _kill_ her, but the kind that would make her feel alive.

Suddenly, that danger was personified.

"Here after hours? Bit of a surprise."

She turned, her signature scowl already settled on her face. Hockstetter, a greasy, dead-eyed nobody, stared back at her. Gretta wrinkled her nose.

"I'm studying, freak, so move along. I don't want to buy any street-drugs."

"I'm not sellin' any, Barbie. Just makin' conversation." His wicked grin made her blood turn cold.

And she liked it.  
Initially, she'd planned to slam her locker shut and be on her way, but an instinct she'd never felt before pressured her to stay.

"Hockstetter... I was wondering."

"Spit it out. I'm not a mind reader."

"Can you get booze? Say, like, strawberry wine?"

He smirked, amused. "Pussy. But yeah. I can get your gay-ass wine. It'll cost ya, though."

"I have money, idiot. Look."

As she reached for her purse, his hand shot out to block her. The action elicited a foreign reaction in her.

"I don't want your money. We just have to make a deal."

"What?" "When I hand it over, you drink with me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because those are the terms of the arrangement, and because you strike me as the kind of girl who could use a good time."

"You think _you_ can show me a good time?"

He spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Hey: if you don't have a decent night, I'll pay you back for the fuckin' wine. The bridge, 9pm. I'll see you, Barbie."


End file.
